Dirty Hands
by emmals16
Summary: Eleven hours from Kentucky's mountains to New York, and David's nerves were on fire. Or, David gets his hands dirty...again.


**_A little whatever that popped out of nowhere._**

 ** _(Despite what the title may suggest, there is no smut in this. Okay? Okay.)_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing- I swear._**

* * *

 **Dirty Hands**

Eleven hours.

Eleven goddamn hours until they'd get back to New York. Maybe ten. It took ten getting here, but that was only thanks to Frank's capacity to speed despite David's warnings— he had been in a hurry after all.

And David sure as Hell was in a hurry now. Why, though? He didn't know. Maybe simply to get to the safety of their smug little basement where he would be just as clueless as to what to do as he was now. In reality, with Frank in his hands, it wouldn't much matter where they were.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

David sighed, slamming his hand against the car window once again. The cold, plus the wetness of the surrounding area, wouldn't quit making the window wipers stick.

He looked around at the surrounding forestry and the dark road, trying to remember the way, "Come on now, Frank."

Silence, "Everything's gonna be okay, all right? Everything's gonna be okay."

Maybe.

He'd never really seen that much blood before. Sure, he'd gotten shot. His cell phone sort of saved him, though, and he sure as Hell wasn't as bad then as Frank was now. That gash. That . . . arrow . . .

He slams the windshield again.

Fluids. He had known fluids were important with blood loss. The IV he had on hand was easy enough to figure out and—

A soft grunt sounded off behind him. David's attention was immediately drawn away from the road. He turned to the back to find Frank's dazed face facing him in return. Something immediately eased in David's mind. He quickly turned back to the road, a relieved smile spreading across his face as Frank voiced his discomfort grumpily. He probably looked crazy.

"Might be hope for you yet, Spook." Frank's oddly quiet voice murmured from behind him, not seeming too bothered by the fact that he was laying on a blood covered sleeping bag with plenty of useless, used, and discarded medical supplies around him.

David chuckled once. Curtly, "Okay, okay."

His attention turned back to the road, "Okay."

It was practically pitch black out. The shadows at the edges of the road were enough to offer spooky visions to anyone wandering alone, and if he could count himself (and Frank, of course) as wandering alone— despite being in the safety of their vehicle— he would say he most definitely felt on edge.

He continued along the road, peering out the windshield to find where he was. A street sign on the side of the road told him he was on route 72, which seemed to tell him absolutely nothing, even though it did. Wasn't there a turn somewhere? Maybe?

He had the map open on his computer in the passenger seat, a small line tracing where he should be going. He seemed to be doing alright so far, given the circumstances. He just had to calm down. Yeah— calm down…

He was right about the turn, too. Up ahead, he could see the yellow sign become illuminated by the headlights. A T in the road. When he looked at his map he could see he had to make a left. He came to a stop just beside the sign, taking care to smack the windshield when the wiper got stuck once again.

Then his eyes caught something to the car's right.

David thought it to be a trick of the eyes. Some sort of illusion like he had thought upon earlier when thinking of the eeriness of these mountains at night. No light. Easy to mistake something in the shadows as something bad or worse.

Except, he knew this was no illusion. The metallic gleam of the truck's hood from his headlights was obvious. Its lights were off, and he was almost certain that this vehicle wasn't there when Frank and him were driving by this part of the forest earlier.

Not only that, but David could swear, if he didn't know any better, that there was someone inside. Some sort of flashing light from a headset or communication device of some sort.

It took David only a second longer to decide to ignore it to the best of his ability, and make the turn he was supposed to.

If his hands had stopped shaking at some point before, they were definately shaking now. He hoped the truck's driver was just some lost guy. Maybe making a phone call for help with towing or something someone normal would totally be doing out here in the middle of nowhere.

His hopes are violently shattered when lights flashed on behind him.

His stomach plummeted, and he found his foot easing down on the gas pedal. He had no actual evidence to this person being violent yet, but he had the urge to get as far away from them as possible nonetheless.

He continued driving, speeding away on curving and slick roads. A cool sweat breaking out on his brow and the grip on the steering wheel making his hands slick. Maybe fifteen minutes went by before he came to another turn with the option of either continuing straight or turning right.

He slowed to a stop—

And got plowed right into from the back. His breath left him as he lurched in his seat, hearing something similar escape Frank's prone form behind him. Engine rumbling from the large truck behind them came to his attention at some point. The van skidded a couple feet forward before jerking to an abrupt stop.

David took a moment to recollect his bearings. His breath was coming in quick pants, his forehead pressed firmly to the top of the steering wheel. He only removed it when he turned to Frank.

"Frank? You okay?" The guy was in the same position, perhaps a little more scewed and disturbed than he previously was, but other than that there was no change. David wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

All he knew was he heard a sudden car door open and slam from behind them. A foreign voice spoke, but David couldn't make out what was being said. He could see the uniformed man stalking towards their van in the mirror, body facing the back where Frank was laying, gun raised and ready to fire at any moment. David's breath caught in his throat.

It makes sense that there's another one. Just as he had stayed with the truck, the soldiers who pursued Frank must've had a man back at their vehicle, too. Someone to keep a lookout. Someone to wait in case backup was needed. It seemed, alternatively, this man had waited for them to drive by on the only road they could leave on. They practically fell right into his hands.

"Frank!" he called back, fingers shakily clutching the steering wheel as he stared helplessly at the man standing on a few feet from their van, "We have company!"

No response. Of course there was no response, "Damnit," David slams the windshield once again, for no other reason than that his nerves were skyrocketing everywhere.

He took a moment to think this through.

The man was obviously being careful. Frank and his buddy had just taken out a good number of this guy's comrades. He knew Frank was dangerous, especially if he wasn't informed about Frank's current state. He might even be scared. Angry, sure. But, scared...that could be dangerous.

This was up to David.

His eyes flicked to the unused gun at his side in the passenger seat— tossed carelessly there without much thought. They also had a decent number in the back. Frank never was too careful— even when traveling to speak with a long-time pal.

He reached for it, but stopped, instead turning his attention to the van. It still worked. The car was still in drive and he could simply speed away from this guy. He readied himself, checking the mirror one last time before stomping hard on the gas.

The engine roared, but the van went nowhere. He tried again, feeling his heart racing in his chest. They were stuck on something. Shoved into something that trapped them here. He had to fix it before they could go anywhere.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" David fell back in his seat, glancing at the window again. The man was just removing his finger from whatever communication device he had on. David saw the exact moment the man prepared to fire, and only had enough time to unbuckle and duck before a flurry of bullets rocked the car.

Something whistled above him, thudding quickly into the passenger seat. He didn't dare move to investigate until all sounds were gone. Even then, he felt petrified. _How does Frank deal with being shot at all the time?_

He slowly looked up, first seeing Frank just as he was before. Completely out. Only the small move of his chest to signal him being alive.

David slowly rose, seeing the few holes in the side of their van and the indents accompanying where bullets didn't quite make it through.

"Holy shit…" he whispered, seeing the hole in the passenger seat that very nearly nailed him instead. He felt faint all of a sudden.

"If you're not dead yet, you will be soon!" came the man's voice from outside. It was much clearer with the holes in the van, which annoyed David just as much as it surprised him.

"Okay, okay." David murmered for what felt like the upteenth billionth time that night, "Hang tight, Frank."

No response.

David's hand is flung up to the passenger seat, groping for his pistol. The cool metal of its grip meets his palm and he desperately take hold of it. He took two deep breaths before he began army crawling beside Frank.

He paused in his movements, quickly giving frank a pat on his shoulder. If he doesn't have to take care of this he doesn't want to, "Frank? Hey, Frank?"

Nothing but a lull of the head.

David cursed to himself, continuing his way to the back doors, slowly standing up and taking the handle in his free hand. He stopped breathing all together, listening for the man.

The rocks and soil outside are jostled by a pair of boots approaching.

Right as he heard the man directly outside the door, David took a deep breath and swings the door open as quickly and as hard as he can manage.

The metal of the door clunked against whatever hard clothing the guy is wearing, and a startled gasp sounds off from the other side of the door. David took the chance, and drew the door back before sending it flying again.

The man fell to the ground.

David jumped out.

He didn't exactly know his next course of action. He had his gun raised up at the grounded man, but there was a much bigger, much more dangerous gun held in the man's grasp. If he didn't do something, he'd be the one shot.

The choice was ultimately made for him in a matter of seconds.

The guy quickly took note of his position, and scrambled to get his gun aimed at David.

It felt like time slowed, and David acted on reflex and impulse, squeezing the trigger he hadn't wanted to squeeze.

The explosion of this gun seems louder than every other one he's ever heard.

The next moment there's a man laying before him, screaming and clutching his right leg. The knee of his camouflage pants, even in the dark of night, quickly turned dark from blood. The man's own weapon had been left forgotten as pain plagues him.

David just stood there, shell shocked by what he'd done.

Allowing for his mind to go on autopilot for a moment, he quickly kicks away the man's weapon, being sure that any weapons (that he could see, anyways. If he's learned anything from Frank it's that there are multiple places to hide weapons on your body.) were far away from him.

Cicadas and the cool breeze become the only accompanying sounds to the soldier's whimpers and took a moment to gather himself before moving to the side of the truck tentatively. The downed man was always in his sight, even as he determined what was preventing their van from moving, and successfully unbudged it with plenty of struggling.

He tried not to look at the man he had hurt as he climbed back into the back of the van. Tried not to listen to the cursing that was sent his way as he closed the doors back up. Tried not to glance at Frank, pale and unmoving on the van floor. Tried to get as far away from his own gun as possible.

He just needed a minute.

He shot someone. _He shot someone._

He didn't actually ever want to shoot someone! It was just for show. For intimidation. Well, he was sure the dude bleeding outside of their van felt pretty intimidated.

What would Sarah think? What would Leo or Zach?

He knew Frank would probably be indifferent, and, if nothing else, possibly even proud? Is that something Frank feels.

David clutched the steering wheel in a tight grip, hitting his head against it a few times in an effort to get the anxiety eating at his guts out of his system.

It didn't work.

He had to get out of there.

He shifted the van into drive, praying that it would work this time. With only a low groan of the tires, the van began rolling across the road, rounding the man that still laid in the road, and drove down the one registered on his map.

They were home free.

And once again the silence ate him up. Worse this time.

Sarah's words echoed eerily in the back of his head: _And David was brilliant, but I mean, never really got his hands dirty...when things would break, we'd call a guy._

Frank had used that against him later on. Different reason and completely different circumstances, but it was used.

He'd done it. He'd got his hands dirty.

David lets out a low groan, "You happy now, Frank? Got my hands dirty, didn't I?"

He wasn't expecting a response.

"Lieberman…"

The van jerked to the side in time with David's jerk of the hand. He slowed the van's pace, peering in the back where Frank still was situated. His hand was pressed to his forehead, other pressed firmly against his injured side. Obviously, and David didn't need to be a doctor to know this, Frank felt like shit.

"We're fine, Frank." David assured despite the shakiness still plaguing his body and the ominous whistling flowing through the bullet holes in the van. Perfectly fine.

"Lieberman what—" there's a pause, containing some type of groan, "what happened?"

David exhaled evenly, relieved to hear Frank after the Hell he had just gone through, but not feeling up to briefing him on precisely what type of Hell it was, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

And he apprently didn't worry about it. He was out in the next moment.

David keened forward, squeezing the steering wheel tightly as the trees continue to pass by in a dark blur.

Eleven goddamn hours…

For both their sakes, he better make it ten.


End file.
